


Falling Star

by CuddlyHawk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Archangel Crowley (Good Omens), Archangels, Archangels as Siblings (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Churches & Cathedrals, Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Exorcisms, Gen, Guardian Angels, Holy Water, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Priest Abuse, Priests, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), consecrated ground, holy burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlyHawk/pseuds/CuddlyHawk
Summary: Aziraphale is a bit overworked and asks Crowley for help when he gets news that there might be children in trouble. Even with Aziraphale on his way to help, Crowley may be in a little too far over his head, and he could very well not make it before Aziraphale gets to him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Raphael (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 123





	Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I just wanted to write a story about the old-fashioned medical procedure of bloodletting, but it somehow turned into a 'summoning' story that morphed into this tale that somehow includes Raphael?? I don't even know, you guys, I just sat down and instead of writing one of the many works in progress I have saved, I decided to write this new thing. So take it. Take it far away from me.

1992 AD

There was something to be said for the perseverance of humans. They didn't get the title of _persistence predator_ for no reason. Crowley bared his teeth at the two priests looming over him.

One priest raised his aspergillum, and Crowley barely held back a snicker. It wasn't really holy water; he was fine. He let himself relax. It had all happened so quickly, but he was sure he could get out of this, especially now that he knew these phonies didn't really know what they were doing.

He had been in his flat—getting ready for bed, really—when he received a frantic call from Aziraphale. "Crowley! Oh, thank Heavens. I got a notice from Michael, there's a church! They aren't— I mean, it's posing as a church. They're doing awful things, Crowley!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down Aziraphale. What's this about a church?"

"They're posing as a church, but the priests! They're targeting children!"

Crowley winced and spoke slowly and gently. "Yeah, angel... Sometimes, priests will do that."

"No, no! Crowley, I mean they're hurting the kids! Stealing them away from their homes and selling them into some sort of slavery! I'd go put a stop to it, but I think my superiors forgot they sent me to North America for a week. And I can't exactly argue with them, so I said I'd handle it, but I can't get back there for another couple days at the least. Please, Crowley. It's the Evangelical Virtues in London church. Michael said they're moving a lot of young lads out tonight!"

Crowley was awake immediately, and snapped his sunglasses to his face and proper clothes onto his corporation as he hurried out to the car. "Alright, Aziraphale. I'm on it. Evangelical Virtues, got it." He held the phone in the crook of his shoulder. "Question, you've never really mentioned Michael before, are they part of your head office?"

"Oh yes, all the Archangels are technically part of my head office. Gabriel is my direct supervisor, but sometimes I'll get messages from other ones, like Michael or even Uriel." His voice softened with gratitude. "Thank you for doing this for me, Crowley. I'll be there as soon as I can. Please keep me updated, yes?"

"O'course angel, one measly little church against me? They won't stand a chance."

He had been so incredibly wrong.

When he got to the church, it was silent. Not a car in sight, not a child to be seen. He pushed the door of the church open and stepped inside, feeling the intense burn on the bottoms of his feet, and hissed softly. Just a quick look-around, then he would tell Aziraphale that the Archangels were wrong.

As he hobbled through the pews toward the front podium, he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye. He squinted, senses on high alert. The holiness of the church made it impossible for him to search out with his demonic senses, so he was stuck using only his human senses. However, he could still see in the dark, which was quickly becoming invaluable. The faint moonlight from the stained glass windows and the distant twinkling of stars cast strange shadows, but despite this, Crowley couldn't see any more movement amidst the pews.

When he turned back to the front, there was a person—a priest, if the violet stole over his shoulders was anything to go by—walking toward him with purpose. "My son, you shouldn't be here," the priest spoke quickly.

Crowley bit back his wince and placed both feet firmly on the ground. He really didn't need this priest knowing anything that would give him away as a demon. He swallowed a few times, then spoke when he was sure that the hiss deep in his throat wouldn't come out. "Yeah, sorry about that, I just thought I heard something, and I wanted to come investigate. You know how it is... With children doing nasty things to churches. I'd hate to see those lovely windows shattered," he motioned vaguely at the mosaic likeness of Christ who was towering over them. He switched his weight but tried to make it look casual. "You haven't seen any of those hooligans, have you?"

The priest shook his head and stepped closer, coming down the steps that led to the podium, until he was standing just a few feet in front of Crowley. "The only hooligan I've seen tonight is you, my son. What were you really doing in God's house?"

The ice in his tone immediately put Crowley on edge, and his senses snuck out, searching for an escape route, or even a reason to leave as soon as possible. But if there were children in danger... "Honest, I was just looking for some kids."

"I don't believe you." The priest's hand closed almost unconsciously on the large pectoral cross hanging from his neck, and Crowley watched the movement, glad his eyes were hidden with his glasses. His throat worked for a moment, then he took a casual step backward.

"Well, I'm not sure what to tell you then," he argued lightly. "Honestly I had a tip that there were some young boys here, and I came to investigate. That's all." Before he could take another step, he felt himself back into another person, a broad-chested man who was also wearing a stole and cross. The cross he wore burned where it touched Crowley's back, and he quickly jumped away from the large priest, frowning deeply. "What's going on?" He demanded, looking from one to the other for an explanation.

"We had a tip of our own," the first priest said with a smile. "A tip from an angel. Father, didn't you receive a message from the Archangel Gabriel himself that there would be an attack on our church this night, and that we were to come protect it?"

The second priest gave a short nod. Well that explained why Aziraphale had gotten the message from Michael instead of Gabriel. God's messenger Archangel was clearly busy spreading the news to these two fools.

"Because I received the same dream," the first continued. He took a step toward Crowley, who inched backward. They were blocking him in. The large one was preventing him from running down the pews to the exit, and the smaller and chattier one was blocking the podium and any backstage exits. Crowley narrowed his eyes at them, but schooled the rest of his face into a neutral expression. No need to give anything away. "Yes," the priest continued, "An attack on our lovely church. The Archangel Gabriel warned that it would either be a wayward angel, or a measly demon."

Casually, the first priest took the aspergillum from its bowl of holy water and raised it threateningly. "How about we find out which one we just got?"

Crowley took another few quick steps backward and held up his hands placatingly. "Listen, please. Fathers. I mean no harm." He raised his hands in surrender. The second priest followed his steps, and easily reached out to wrap a solid arm around Crowley's thin body, pulling him flush and letting the cross burn into Crowley's back. Crowley winced and willed his heart to stop racing. The ground burned, his back burned, and the first priest was getting awfully close with the aspergillum, but Crowley refused to let it scare him.

The one restraining him reached up and removed Crowley's glasses, much to Crowley's dismay. This was getting too intense. He snapped his fingers, expecting his glasses to re-materialize on his face and for the humans to go into a trance so he could escape. That's what he had willed to happen when he snapped his fingers.

But the first one laughed, throwing his head back as he roared up to the heavens. "You think you have any power here? We have the protection of God himself on our side!" The priest crowed, leveling a vicious smile at Crowley, whose golden eyes were on display. He met the priest's stare evenly, the wheels spinning quickly in his mind. No miracles. That...certainly put a damper on his confidence.

The priest took a step forward and flicked the hammer-shaped device at Crowley, who flinched and held his breath, expecting to be smited, or at the very least, burned.

The droplets landed painlessly on his skin.

He looked from the water on his shirt to the aspergillum, to the face of the astonished priest who held the holy device. "Not affected by holy water," he said with a note of disappointment. The arm around Crowley's chest tightened, and suddenly he found himself lying flat on the floor. He gasped when the air was sucked from his lungs, trying to climb his way back to his feet so he could catch his breath, but the larger one easily held him down.

Crowley's mind quickly went through its options. The ground was holy, the crosses burned whether they were holy or not, but the water itself... the water wasn't holy. They didn't seem to realize that. Because the smaller priest stepped forward again and let the aspergillum drip directly onto Crowley's nose. The demon blinked the harmless water out of his eyes, and glared up at both of them. He held back a snicker. If he could just keep them thinking that their water was holy, then maybe he could find a way out of this.

He slowly caught his breath, the burning becoming nearly unbearable on his back and legs, but the priests didn't even seem to realize that the ground was hurting him. If he could keep it that way, he had a chance.

"See?" He wheezed, fighting the pain searing through his shoulders. "Holy water does nothing to me, so I'm the angel. What would Gabriel think if he knew you were trapping an angel?"

The larger priest glanced up at his companion with an unsure expression. The smaller one sneered and flicked more water at Crowley. "Lies. Your yellow eyes tell me everything. You're a demon, _admit it!"_

"But I'm not! See, your holy water doesn't affect me!"

Crowley felt the arms pinning him down start to slacken, and he tried to push himself up, but the smaller priest immediately lunged to hold Crowley down himself. "Don't let him up, Father! He's lying, clearly! That's what demons do. Look at his eyes. Angels don't have eyes like that." He looked down at Crowley with a suspicious scowl. "No, the only way for a demon to not be affected by holy water is if it's possessing someone. It's buried so deeply into this man's body, that the water can't touch it. That's the only explanation."

Crowley, the wind burned from him again as he was pressed flat to the holy ground, could do nothing but wheeze.

"Leave this man!" The priest shouted, re-wetting the aspergillum and sending a fresh spray of water onto Crowley.

"I'm not possessed!" Crowley argued, struggling to free himself from the other priest. "C'mon man, look at me," he begged of the other priest. "Besides my eyes, what makes you think I'm a demon? I haven't done anything demonic, I haven't even hurt anyone! You lot are the ones who are holding me down and accusing me of being possessed! How am I supposed to know that _you_ aren't the ones possessed?"

The larger priest simply looked away from Crowley, a firm frown on his face as he continued holding him down. Crowley kicked out, trying to twist away. The movement caused the second priest's pectoral cross to hang forward, hovering over Crowley's chest. The demon froze, eyeing it for a split second before meeting the first priest's eyes once more.

But it was too late.

"The cross?" The priest asked suspiciously, kneeling down next to Crowley and brandishing his own cross, holding it over Crowley's body.

"Please, look, think about it, I haven't done anything to you. There's really no need to—" Crowley broke off with a short scream when the priest removed his cross and pressed it flush against Crowley's chest.

The demon twisted with more vigor now, biting his tongue to hold back any more noises and kicking and twisting to try to dislodge them. When smoke began to rise from Crowley's sternum, the priest finally removed the cross, letting Crowley cough and wheeze for breath.

"Interesting," the priest hummed, running his fingers reverently over his cross. "So even when hidden away with possession, the demon can still feel the burn from a holy cross."

"M'not," he gasped for breath, "not possess... not possessing... anyone." The priest raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I swear... this is my... body."

"Yours because you _stole_ it?"

"No! Agh!!" Crowley writhed where he lay when the cross was once again pressed flat onto his chest. He could feel the shape searing into his skin, and wondered distantly if he would have a scar. If so, would the scar burn him if it was in the shape of a cross?

His mind whited out when he felt another burn press into his side. Blinking watery eyes open, he saw the second priest with a hardened expression, pressing his own cross to Crowley's body.

The demon groaned loudly, fingers digging into the wood on the ground, ignoring the spikes of burning pain in his fingertips as he tried to claw himself free.

Quite suddenly, the sharp pain disappeared, leaving the ache of burning agony in his back and chest and side. Slowly, the cotton in his ears faded and he could hear a ringing sound. He couldn't even open his eyes, could barely breathe as the ringing continued.

He felt himself being pushed onto his side, and he whined when his shoulder and arm were suddenly alight with pain. But after a moment, he was released and fell to lie on his back once more. The ringing was louder now, and he blearily opened his eyes to see the two priests kneeling over him, holding a small grey box in their hands. It was ringing.

His phone. That was his cell phone! And that particular ring... Awareness came back to Crowley, and he realized that Aziraphale was calling him. Of course! He was supposed to check in with the angel and keep him updated. Aziraphale must have gotten concerned when Crowley didn't call. Crowley let his head fall back onto the ground with a relieved smile. Aziraphale would know something was wrong, and would come help him. He'd be saved!

A sharp slap stung against Crowley's cheek, and he glared up at the first priest.

"What is this trickery, demon?" He demanded, holding the phone up so Crowley could see it. The phone went dark as the call went to voicemail, and Crowley smiled when, a few seconds later, it lit up again with Aziraphale's name.

"S'my cellular phone, my mobile" Crowley grinned despite himself. "No trickery here, just a few satellites and technological advancements. Not that you lot would know what a mobile is." He flinched when the priest raised his cross dangerously.

"I meant, why would someone be calling a demon? No, this is the mobile of the man you're possessing! And I command that you leave him, foul hell-spawn!"

Crowley stuck his lip out petulantly. "No."

"I have a direct line to the heavens, demon. If you know what's good for you, you will leave this man at once!"

"No. This is my body. I'm not possessing anyone."

The priest shook his head. "Then you leave me no choice." The arms returned and held Crowley down even tighter, and Crowley snarled at them, allowing his hiss to finally surface. The first priest sat back and raised his arms, and began chanting in Latin. Crowley rolled his eyes. They didn't even have real holy water, there was no way an exorcism performed by this man would actually work.

Crowley felt the second priest adjust his grip, holding Crowley down with one arm while the other flicked open a small blade. Crowley watched the movement warily. "What are you doing?" When the priest angled the blade and pressed it into Crowley's inner arm, nicking an artery so the blood began to pump very quickly out and onto the ground, Crowley finally felt true fear filling him. "Wh– No! What are you doing?"

The first priest stopped his chanting and looked down at Crowley with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We're making this body inhabitable so you'll be forced to go back to Hell. This is no place for you. You don't belong!" He switched back to Latin and continued chanting, speaking words that Crowley had no intention of trying to understand. If his corporation passed out, then there was less likely of a chance of Aziraphale finding him. He needed to be awake so he could call out for Aziraphale whenever he came back. If he was unconscious or discorporated, there wouldn't be any way of contacting Aziraphale until he was awake and in a body again.

He balled his fists, trying to will his body to heal itself and stop the bleeding, but his miracles were useless. The blood continued to spill with every beat of his racing heart. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and sent out a frantic plea to Aziraphale. _Angel, if you could hurry it up, I'm in a bit of a situation and I could really use your help!_

A sudden sharp prick under Crowley's chin made him flinch, opening his eyes to glare at the priest who had nicked another artery, this time in Crowley's neck.

The blood spilling twice as quickly, Crowley felt his heart beating faster and faster, yet his brain grew sluggish. His limbs began to grow cold as blood couldn't reach them, and his mind, starving for oxygen, began to grey out. He gasped for breath, but even though he could feel the air filling his lungs, the rush of awareness he so desperately craved seemed just out of reach.

His hands and feet were icy cold, and then they tingled with numbness, and then Crowley couldn't feel them at all. His nose also grew cold, and he couldn't even feel the burn of the consecrated ground under him. "Angel..." he breathed as his eyes slid closed against his will.

He felt the distant burn of a cross pressed to his chest again, and the Latin chanting grew louder behind the cotton ringing in his ears. Then there was a flash of light, one that would have hurt Crowley's eyes even though they were closed, if he were more aware.

A distant cry, a deep and booming voice, running footsteps.

Crowley felt himself sinking deeper into darkness, sliding toward oblivion as though it were oily quicksand. He tried so hard to hold on to something, but his flailing mind could latch onto nothing.

That is, until he felt a touch on the top of his head. His mind grabbed onto that sensation, muted as it were, and held on with every fiber of himself. He couldn't fall asleep. Not yet. He had to see Aziraphale again. He had to wait for his angel.

He had to...

* * *

Aziraphale leaped off the taxi and began sprinting toward Crowley's location. When Crowley hadn't answered his phone, Aziraphale knew something was clearly wrong. He tried not to let it get to him too much, and told himself Crowley would be fine for another couple hours while he finished the plane ride back from North America. But when he felt the swell of pain and fear and a plea for help, Aziraphale knew he couldn't wait another moment.

Only being able to teleport very short distances, Aziraphale pushed the plane to go faster, to land as quickly as possible, and for the taxi to break every rule of the road to get him to the church faster. He had to be _faster_.

When the church was finally in view, Aziraphale finally teleported himself the last few miles, and materialized inside the church to see a figure with bright white wings hunched on the ground. Aziraphale held his breath and stepped forward, heart in his throat. When he got closer, he could see that the angel had a glowing blue hand pressed to Crowley's head. The demon was deathly still on the ground.

Aziraphale's chest seized in fear, and he immediately materialized his own wings and allowed the grace of God to fill him. "Away from my adversary, brother," Aziraphale's voice echoed in the small church.

The angel looked up, and Aziraphale felt his resolve flicker when he recognized the Archangel Raphael looking up at him solemnly.

"He called for help," Raphael explained quietly before looking down at Crowley again. As Aziraphale watched, the small wounds on Crowley's arm and neck healed right up, stopping the blood from continuing to pool around him.

As grateful as Aziraphale was for Raphael helping rather than hurting him, he couldn't help but ask, "But why did you come? I was on my way to help. He's a demon, you know."

Raphael didn't look up when he replied, "I do not discriminate. If someone asks my help, I will be there."

"Did... he didn't ask for you though, did he?"

"He meant to call for you, I'm sure," Raphael said with a smile. "But our wires must have gotten crossed. Because I heard his prayer bright as day. After all, our names are incredibly similar. Besides, the priests were attempting an exorcism, calling upon us Archangels to 'smite the demon away'. So it was easy to follow their voices to reach him quickly."

Aziraphale wore an expression of pure fear. "They were..." He choked off and wrung his hands, sinking to his knees and letting his wings droop as he looked over Crowley's pale face. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I got to him just in time. Another moment of this, and he would have been discorporated at the least. The priests I scared away were using holy items, so it's more likely that once his soul began its descent, the holy injuries would have caught up to him and burned him up into oblivion before he even reached his destination."

Aziraphale blanched, jaw dropping as he protectively moved even closer to Crowley. He had nearly lost him. After everything they had been through together, and he had almost lost Crowley. And all for what? Because he didn't want to argue with Michael? Tears filled his eyes and he reached his hand out to hold onto Crowley's ice cold fingers.

"Well," Aziraphale spoke up when the lump in his throat had decided to allow him to speak. "I'm glad you were able to help him." He gave Raphael a grateful smile. "Thank you."

The healer gave a warm smile of his own and nodded once, lifting Crowley just a bit so he could raise him up off the consecrated ground and pass him to Aziraphale, who accepted the thin corporation easily, cradling him to his chest. "The other Archangels were wrong to do this to you," he told Aziraphale, but was looking at Crowley. "When I see them, I will have a few choice words for them." His lip twisted in a small scowl, but the anger faded as quick as it came. "They have no right to do this to you, Archangel or not. You _both_ are still God's children."

Raphael looked at Crowley a bit longer, and just when Aziraphale began to grow concerned with the expression on Raphael's face, the healer tenderly reached up to brush a light knuckle along Crowley's cheek. "You're in good hands, brother," he whispered, Aziraphale only barely making out the words. "Rest now," his fingers glowed blue once more, and Crowley's shaky breaths evened into a restful sleep, "my little starmaker."

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "Wait, you kn–"

Raphael disappeared without another word.

Aziraphale held Crowley tighter and looked wildly around. "No, don't go yet!" Aziraphale begged. "Did you know him before he Fell?" He called into the empty church. But nothing but silence answered him.

When it was clear no one was going to answer him, Aziraphale let a frustrated breath huff out, and turned to look at Crowley, who was sleeping soundly in his arms. He searched out with his angelic essence, feeling for any lingering injuries. But the Heavenly Healer had done his job well.

Aziraphale slowly got to his feet, hiding his wings away as he made his way outside the church. As he hailed a taxi, Crowley began to stir.

"Mm-ngel?"

"Yes, dear boy. It's me. You're alright, I've got you."

Crowley sighed, a smile flickering on his lips. "Knew you'd come..."

Aziraphale smiled, feeling grateful tears trickling from his eyes. He climbed into the back of the taxi, and the driver knew better than to say anything as he drove both of them to Crowley's apartment building.

"Of course I'd come," Aziraphale whispered, reaching up to brush Crowley's sweaty, stiff hair from his face. "You know," he said with a secretive smile. "I think you have a couple guardian angels looking out for you."

Crowley hummed. "What d'you mean?"

Aziraphale spared a quick glance skyward, a smile playing at his lips. "It means you're loved, my dear. And all of us are looking out for you."

Crowley hummed again and when his eyes cracked open, Aziraphale saw reflected in his eyes, the pale blue glow of a falling star.


End file.
